


Eat the Rich

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic awakening, Character Death, Corpse Desecration, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dark, Dark Percy Weasley, Dom/sub Undertones, Erotic Horror, Erotic cannibalism, Erotic murder, Hand Feeding, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Masks, Murder, Psychological deterioration, Purebloods (Harry Potter), Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Sensual gore, Sensual horror, Thinly disguised Socialist propaganda, Vivisection, raw meat, rich people, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: The rich have always been disgusting to Percy; their manners disagreeable, their attitudes outdated, and their very existence a waste of space. Fortunately though, by mere chance, he meets Tom, a stranger that shows him the alternative uses for the hideously rich.Does exactly what it says on the tin.





	Eat the Rich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomanysunkenships](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysunkenships/gifts).



> I am sorry that this took so long to get started, but I have a long a pretty empty summer now, so things should start to get moving a little quicker. 
> 
> Also, I am so sorry, this is probably going to be the most graphic thing that I have ever written, so, please heed the tags because eventually, this will be literally over 8000 words of cannibalistic self-discovery. But, hey, if that's your thing, I hope it's not too bad. 
> 
> Set Summer of 1997 
> 
> Also an AU where Tom didn't turn into a weird snake thing (because I just can't write that and feel good about myself) but has also never shown his face since rising to dark lord status, if that makes sense (it's all purely self-indulgent on my part, and I just thought I should put it in here in case something wasn't clear).

He had decided not to go, that enduring such a party would not have been worth living, and then he’d come anyway, though not by choice. Despite the promises of wealth and prestige that such parties always augured, he had never seen them make good on their promises, and so he was not here by choice. Instead, he was here, acting in quasi-official capacity, one that had been gifted to him just a day before, by someone with a simpering smile and the suggestion that perhaps he could do with the additional wages. Any of his siblings might have grinned and said something crass, but Percy couldn’t bring himself to do anything but nod and say he’d be there. So he was, not by choice, and he wasn’t enjoying it.  
It wasn’t his fault; he just had an overwhelming feeling of unbelonging. The party was much too glamorous for his cheap suit, and shoes made for comfort not for fashion. He just didn’t belong with these people. Not only did he lack the money, but also the loose morals that seemed to be so prevalent. Indecorous women and indiscreet men; it made his lip settle into a sneer without him meaning to, it was just all so _undignified_. The exact opposite of what everyone expected the upper echelons to be, of what everyone hoped that they were. These people simply didn’t appreciate the wealth that they had been given by virtue of their status, they took it all for granted, turning something as lovely as money into a behemoth, a swollen festering thing that infected each and every one of them. Made them into mindless creatures of indulgence that were so sickening to watch. So, he stood in the corner, in his quasi-official capacity like a martyr; the last defender of moral righteousness.  
If he did say so himself, it was a place that was perfectly calculated in distance to ensure the none of these unpleasant people would feel inclined to make conversation, but closer enough that he could continue to watch them all, the weigher of their heavy souls. Not that their sins could be seen from merely outward appearances. These people may have worn masks to this ball, but it was a practice they were familiar with, for they wore their own masks every day. They hid their rotting selves so well that they believed, they _honestly_ believed that they were virtuous, that they were worthy people. They were not. None of them could profess to be even remotely worthy to a truly objective eye, but that was the problem, there were no objective eyes, only money-corrupted ones.

Percy forced another smile as a woman danced a little too close, her face may have been covered by a mask made of pearls, but Percy still knew her, still knew her husband, even if he was across the room with his hand on another woman’s thigh. In his short time working with these people, Percy had learnt they were simply too rich for morals. Where others were honourable in their moral poverty, these people saw no reason to pay attention to such proper behaviour, to them, morality was a poor man’s disease. They had no need for it when they had everything, and they _had_ everything.  
That was obvious even in this single room, in this single house, on this single estate. There were seventeen families just like that. Seventeen families who cared for nothing but the glimmers of the light on the floor, and the colours of the curtains and whether they matched the wine. Seventeen families that were dressed so impeccably in clothes that cost more than Percy would make in a year, and why? All because they could. Overindulgence was a rich man’s infection.  
Standing here in the corner, in his cheap clothes that still cost too much, watching on the fringe because he would never be allowed to involve himself, Percy knew he was different from these people. Even if he wasn’t physically, or even cognitively, his birth had labelled him as different.  
Ever since he was a child, Percy had understood three simple things about himself: he was intelligent, he was a pureblood, and he was poor. Those, apparently, were his virtue-vices; the things that he should be proud, and ashamed of.  
He was taught, vigorously, like it was a crime if he should forget, that blood-status did not matter, nor did poverty. All he should ever be concerned with was intelligence. By cultivating himself, he would rise up, and take his deserved place, that was what his parents said. But his parents knew nothing. The world that they envisioned was a perfect meritocracy, where money was not a kingmaker, where it mattered not where someone was born, or who they were born to. But that was not the world that existed. In reality, it did not matter whether he had the skills to succeed, only whether he had a name that was worthy of success, and Percy Ignatius Weasley was not such a name. And whether his family liked it or not, the world that they lived in was a plutocracy of the highest degree; of the wealthy, by the wealthy, for the wealthy. There was nothing left for him to do than to stand here and accept his fate. 

Out of boredom, Percy scanned the room for what must have been the hundredth time, his eyes passing between the crystal glasses and gold chandeliers, and the hints of visible magic that seemed to infuse everything, because to have money and title and opportunity was not enough for these people, they also needed exceptional magic. The sort that could not only be felt, but also witnessed, a glimmer, a spark, a dash of colour or shine where it ought not to be. Rich people’s magic was different than his own, it had a sharpness and a clarity to it that was so difficult to achieve, though they made it seem effortless. Percy had to wonder whether that sharpness permeated right into their skin, or whether it was merely superficial.  
But for all their magic, they were all still similar, the same creature moulded over and over again, always in the same image. There was no variety, no individuality to these people, they were just gold statutes, pretty and pre-packaged. Or, at least, most of them were. For, now, amongst the sea of masked faces, undulating like real waves, there was someone new. Someone different. A diamond amongst shards of glass.  
Percy hadn’t seen him arrive, but now he couldn’t help but see him, even when he was standing across the room surrounded by smiling people, he stood out, shining as an individual in every aspect of his being. As, although it was technically a costume party, most people had taken that to mean wearing the most extravagant thing they could find in the wardrobes, or perhaps buying new outfits because what else would they do with their hideous wealth. Just turning his head, a little left and right across the room, showed Percy too much gold and silver and green and red and every royal colour in the world. There was too much glitz and glamour, too many gems glittering and too many false smiles glimmering, it was all excessive until it was sickening, but this stranger was an abnormality in this overindulgent room.  
He wore black, as dark as the void, it looked as though it could swallow the room, and suddenly all their glitter seemed cheap and tasteless. None of _them_ could hope to embody his natural elegance, the posture that seemed learned as opposed to natural, and yet, was more genuine than anything the others could manage. It was all frankly extraordinary. Distracting, to an unhealthy degree, even to Percy who thought that knowing his proclivities would make them more tameable.  
For the briefest of moments, Percy watched uninhibited and unashamed, just caught up in admiration for someone he would so like to become. For, no matter how much he despised these wealthy creatures, the only way to success was to integrate himself with them, and this stranger had managed that with ease; he merged into their ranks as though he was merely slipping into water. There was admirability in that skill, and that did not even mention the smile he gave as he did so, an excuse and a justification rolled into one. The sort of smile that only existed in books, the one that said whatever the observer wanted it to, however pathetically romantic _that_ sounded. 

Percy kept watching as the man greeted more people with the same smile, and a hand outstretched, and pleasantries dripping from his tongue and lost instantly in the clamours of the party. He knew he shouldn’t watch, that it was rude to stare, but Percy couldn’t help it. Everyone else was so boring, a personality formed solely on the foundations that they had and always would have money, it made them dull. This stranger was different, for although he smiled and nodded along to whatever they were saying, he seemed distracted, as if behind the mask of social perfection there was anywhere in the world, he would have rather be than here. Nor, of course, was he starstruck by all _this_ , which could only mean he was surrounded by it all day every day, but he didn’t look explicitly rich, neither did he feel it. Rather, he looked clever, acted clever, with a tongue that, even from a distance, was obviously sharp if the flickered glares on other people’s faces were anything to go by.  
Percy didn’t even need to see half the man’s face to recognise a certain degree of arrogance in it, it was the same that everyone here had, and even _he_ could sometimes be guilty of. It was obvious in the corners of this stranger’s lips, as the mask hid only half his face, leaving his mouth exposed, such a pretty mouth that curved and smiled and fell away as soon as he turned away. Whoever it was, they weren’t going to pay attention to him, so Percy watched shamelessly as the stranger laced his way between groups, sliding in and out of conversations seamlessly, always starting with a smile and leaving with a sneer that rivalled Percy’s own.  
He only realised he had been staring for too long when the stranger caught his eyes and smiled, before turning back to their own temporary company. Despite how quickly the man had turned away, Percy could still feel his skin heating and his thoughts start to tangle themselves up in the same way that they always did when someone so far out of his league smiled, even when it wasn’t at him. He was going to have to leave, to exit this room and perhaps find a quiet corner to mull in, but as he took a step towards this plan, the band changed their pace and a new dance began. One that took up so much more space that was really necessary, and Percy found himself stuck between the wall and the dance, and his lovely little sanctitude became his prison. 

As if the moment couldn’t become any worse, the stranger seemed to have taken the opportunity to skirt close to the wall and was now sauntering over with the sort of confidence that Percy only wished he had the authority to exude and the maturity to execute. In a strange desperation, Percy turned to the window and stared out into the dark, like they might understand that he was not willing to engage in small talk for the sake of it.  
Apparently, the stranger did not understand the message Percy was trying to convey as he sidled up beside him, pale hands on the window frame, and also stared out into the blackness.  
Percy cast a brief glance over his shoulder, the dance was still happening, and he remained confined to the corner whether he liked it or not. So, he should just get the conversation over with; introduction, pleasantries, questions, conclusion; that was how it should go, that was how every conversation here went.  
But when Percy turned to face the stranger, he was already watching him, “that’s lovely spellwork,” the stranger said, raising his hand just enough for Percy to understand he was referencing his mask.  
“Oh – err – thank you,” he said, a little taken aback. Apparently, they were skipping introductions and going straight to pleasantries, though even pleasantries rarely encompassed genuine compliments. Not that Percy would ever refuse a compliment, especially for something he’d spent most of last night trying to perfect. He knew after an hour of trying that he’d already spent far too long trying to make the metal of his mask bristle like fur, and then it had taken too much longer to dye it ten different complimentary shades that would all catch the light from a single angle, making the colours ripple and swell and glow like they were burning. It frankly deserved to be complimented.  
“May I?” the stranger continued, raising his hand to Percy’s face, wanting to touch, but waiting for his permission, which made a change, most people here just touched because no one could tell them not to.  
“If you want,” Percy said, trying to keep his face steady as the stranger ran his fingers through the metal, a fingernail sliding between the lines with just enough pressure that Percy could feel it through the mask and against his skin.  
“Beautiful,” the stranger murmured, with a half-smile that made Percy swallow a little too hard.  
“Yours is good too, more than good,” he said stumbling over the words in a way that was really beneath him.  
There could be no denying that whoever this man was, he knew his way around charms., that was obvious from the decorations of his ink black mask. A small bejewelled snake that slithered so slowly over the middle, its tiny body coiling like it was about to strike. Somehow it managed to maintain a delicacy that offset the danger, but still, the threat was there. Percy would quite have liked to raise his fingers to it and discover whether it was confined to the mask, or whether it would leave and twirl around his fingers, and he could discover whether it was made from glass or porcelain or metal, or something else entirely.  
The strange only smiled at his curiosity, all pale teeth, and sharp angles, as, despite the mask, Percy could still see, and, most certainly admire, the cut of this stranger’s face, the set of his jaw, and that delicious smile that curled like that snake all over his mouth.  
“Well, thank you. Though admiration of others shouldn’t detract from yourself…”  
“Percy,” he said, knowing the syllables caught on his tongue and eventually fell out a little fumbled.  
“It is a privilege to meet you, Percy.”  
“And you…?” he paused, hoping the stranger would offer a name, and the element of mystery that acted so to his advantage would be removed. Even when he was this close, Percy didn’t recognise him from the ministry, and he acted important enough, slithering up with the minister himself, that Percy should have known who he was. But then again, he could have just been a foreign relative of another one of these wealthy creatures who seemed to be blessed with everything. Though there was still something different about this stranger, he was a singularity in a world filled with duplicates.  
“Tom,” he said, a hand outstretched. No surname though, such an omission certainly held certain implications, such as he did not come from as much money as Percy has first thought. Tom’s smile seemed to confirm it.  
“Your mask was what attracted me, but now that I’ve met you, you are the only person with any sanity here.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Their money does not inveigle you into their company,” Tom said, still with a smile, eyes carefully watching him, in a such a way that Percy felt the need to temper his reactions.  
“Should it?” he said, trying to lean casually against the window, but knowing in his heart that it came across as stiff and somewhat awkward, especially when compared to Tom, whose hand rested far too elegantly on the windowsill, and the rest of him balanced insouciantly, like he did it every day.  
“God no. It is their wealth that makes them all quite unbearable. Money is not an accurate measure of a person.”  
Percy found himself leaning his head to the side, something he only ever did when someone said something worth thinking about. “What is then?” he said, watching and waiting for the response.  
“Intelligence, ingenuity and integrity, at least, that is how _I_ measure people.”  
“That sounds agreeable,” said Percy, though he was not going to admit that those were also qualities he so valued for fear of appearing as though he could merely agree and never think for himself.  
“Oh, it is, but, and I am sorry for this, you’ll excuse me now. There is a couple that has just arrived that I am required to meet, but I’d love to see you later, at dinner perhaps?”  
“Umm – that would be – fine,” Percy mumbled, but Tom was already walking away with all the glamour in the world.


End file.
